What She Never Said
by narrazione
Summary: Written for ShyD88's Miscarriage Challenge.  Angelina Johnson knew in that instance as they sat there on the steps that everything was over.  There would be no agonizing over how to break the news.  The baby was gone.


There were many things Angelina Johnson never told her husband. They ranged from big to small, and after a while they piled up so high that she forgot the things she had told him and had a tendency to irritate him with repeated stories and constant reminders.

She never told him that, when he wasn't home because of business travels or family matters, she slept on his side of the bed and performed intricate song-and-dance numbers in their living room.

She never told him that she absolutely hated when his mother made trifle. Not to say it was bad, but it was not nearly as good as her mother's, and it only succeeded in making her wish they had visited her family that night instead.

She never told him that she wanted to keep her last name when they married not out of the pride of carrying on the Johnson line but because she had never wanted to take his last name to begin with. It was supposed to be Fred, not George, that made her a Weasley. Things had gone all pear-shaped somewhere along the way, and as much as she told herself that she loved him, she could not accept that name from him.

It was easy to forget sometimes. The way he laughed, the boyish excitement as he explained products to eager buyers, his easy smile, his quick wit. Just like his brother. But then she'd run her hands through his hair as she kissed him, and the heel of her hand would brush against his ear. Just the one. And she would remember. She never told him that moments like that made her stomach turn and her heart clench all over again, as if she was discovering Fred lying there, on the floor of the Great Hall, dead, Weasley's encircling him, all over again. It wasn't George's fault she hadn't yet been able to erase that image from her mind. It was her own. It was Fred's. If only she'd been able to tell him that she loved him. If he had said it to her. But, they hadn't. And here they were.

She never told George that she cried herself to sleep the night they talked about starting a family of their own. She didn't expect the conversation to go as it had, and he'd broken one of the already-shattered pieces when she sat him down that day.

_"Have you ever thought about children?"_

_ "Well," George shrugged, "I've been told I think _like _a child, if that counts for anything."_

_ "It doesn't," she glared. "I'm being serious. Have you, y'know, ever thought about us having kids? Starting our own family?"_

_ George's eyes grew wide and he ran both of his hands through his hair as he let out a long, slow sigh that puffed out both of his cheeks. "Merlin, Angie, I don't know. We just bought the new shop in Hogsmeade…"_

_ "Which Ron is helping with," she pointed out, leaning across the table towards him. "If we were to have children, now wouldn't be such a bad time, would it?"_

_ "It's…well, it's very…soon, isn't it?"_

She didn't think so. But things were always too soon for George. Too soon after Fred's death to ask her to dinner. Too soon after asking her out to kiss her. Too soon to propose. Too soon to get married. Too soon to have children.

In the end, they decided not to try and have children. They just decided not to _not_ try. If it was supposed to happen, it would happen.

She never told him it already had.

She figured she would wait awhile, give him time to get used to the idea of not using protective spells and potions, before breaking the news. He'd probably never count back and realize she'd stopped doing all that months before. It just got so tiring, all the preparation. Where was the romance in that? Fred was always so spontaneous.

The morning of her sister-in-law's birthday, Angelina Johnson felt happy. Ginny Potter's birthday would be a good day. She could feel it. George was anxious to leave for the Burrow, and she was no less excited to go. There would be no blasted trifle that day; Ginny was too fond of vanilla cake with strawberry frosting for any other desserts to be present. Angie took the stairs two-at-a-time to retrieve Ginny's present, a carefully-wrapped basket of sweets from Honeydukes that Angie insisted would not do horrible things to the youngest Weasley (much to George's childish protests). George bounced up and down by the fireplace, prompting her to hurry up, and she laughed at his excitement. He loved to visit his family. He was happier around them than he was with just her. She reminded him of Fred, just like he reminded her, and even though it could make them absolutely miserable, they clung to each other to remind themselves that there were still good times. That someone else had survived.

His enthusiasm was infectious, and she turned to make a crude gesture at him that she knew would make him laugh harder. But as she turned, she missed the next step and came crashing down. The laughter stopped. It wasn't fun anymore.

George was at her side in an instant. She kept her eyes closed as he helped her sit up and passed his wands over her cuts and bruises, double checking that the splinter in her nose was absolutely gone.

She never told him that the worst damage could not be undone.

She knew in that instance as they sat there on the steps that everything was over. There would be no agonizing over how to break the news. No praying that he never did the math. She didn't have the official word of a healer, but she didn't need it. She could just feel it in her very core.

The baby was gone.

Acting had never been one of her strong suits in school, but, ever since she saw that body in the ruins of the Great Hall that fateful day, it had become an essential tool in her arsenal. After seeing the way people looked at the Weasleys, and even at her if they knew her well enough, she swore no one would ever see her cry. That vow extended to her husband. He would not see her that way.

He would never see the tears.

There would be another baby. They had stopped not not trying, and, as Molly Weasley would tell her later that day as Angelina forced a smile while putting away leftovers with her mother-in-law, not not trying was exactly the same as trying but without the pressure.

That made it worse. George had already lost so much, and she was never able to tell him what else he had lost. What she had so carelessly destroyed. She never told him that she apparated up the stairs for weeks because she couldn't even bear to look at them. She never told him the pure terror that she felt when the healer confirmed that she was, in fact, pregnant again. She never told him that she couldn't feel his joy and excitement at having a baby, but she couldn't tell him that the apprehension he sensed from her was more than just nerves.

She was alone.

Completely and utterly alone.

She wanted Fred.

There was no need to tell him. She had been fooling everyone for years. Making them think she was happy. Making them think she didn't have nightmares of that blank face with the ghost of a smile dancing on his lips. This was no different. She could smile and laugh and squeal over tiny baby clothes and order George to pick a light color for the baby room, not lime green.

He would never know.

She would have told Fred.

But he left her alone, too.

What did she have left?


End file.
